


Aftereffects

by fuzipenguin



Series: The Oldest Profession [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Gen, Multi, Other, Rape Aftermath, hooker!Hound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 04:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Hound doesn't understand why he's been unable to sleep after tortured by Vortex...





	Aftereffects

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: congrats on 250 followers! As always, I'd love to see more of your sex worker AUs, particularly with Orion and Hound. I love the way you write them and love the relationship Hound's developed with the twins! I'm also super curious as to who Orion's favorite caller was before he quit, the one who just called to talk. If you want/need actual prompts, I'm sure I can come up with something, but I'm also happy just seeing where those AUs take you naturally. Thanks and congrats again!

     Hound can’t seem to recharge. Whenever he tried, he kept waking up with his spark in his throat, hands clenched against phantom pain, and denta ground together to keep his noises silent. 

     A lot of clients had hated to hear him. Others had loved it. 

     Vortex had been mercurial and Hound hadn’t been able to tell when the interrogator had wanted one or the other. Hound had gone for silent more often than not; he hadn’t wanted to worry Bluestreak. 

     And now it was second nature to hide Hound’s sounds of distress. Whenever he startled up out of recharge anymore, he remained rigid atop his berth until his spark stopped racing and then quietly left the room so as not to disturb his roommate. He aimlessly wandered the halls until the start of his next shift which at least kept his processor occupied. And then it started all over again once he was released from duty. 

     After a few days of that, he began dreading ever initiating his recharge protocols again. What was the point?

     But realistically, he knew he needed recharge to function. He’d have to see Ratchet soon, which felt like defeat. There was no shame in asking for help, he knew that. But he doesn’t understand why he was reacting the way he was. He’d been used before, after all.

     On the eighth (or maybe ninth?) night he jerked out of recharge, he immediately vowed to make an appointment with medical the next day. But he had to get to the next day first. So he wandered out of the room, so dazed he barely knew where he was going.

     He vaguely realized he was in the bowels of the ship when an arm reached out from the abandoned room he had just passed and yanked him inside. 

     Hound didn’t make a sound; he just sort of wheezed a little when he was swung around and his back impacted the wall of the room. A hand planted itself on Hound’s bumper, keeping him pinned in place.

     “Can’t sleep?”

     Hound struggled to identify the voice, processor sluggish from lack of sleep. Then a frame moved deeper in the shadows, the light from the hallway glinting off burnished gold. 

     “Sideswipe?” Hound guessed, reaching up to grasp the red twin’s wrist.

     “Yup. You’re like clockwork, you know. Always the same path. A more devious mech might use that knowledge for a prank,” Sideswipe replied, his bright optics tilting up in the corners. His face was nearly obscured by the shadows, but Hound detected a grin there on the other mech’s faceplates. 

     “Is that what you’re doing? You’re pranking me?” Hound asked wearily. Figured. 

     “Nope!” Sideswipe returned cheerfully. “We’re sitting!”

     And then Sunstreaker strode forward, each twin grasping one of Hound's shoulders and exerting a gentle, downwards pressure. Hound’s knees buckled with barely any resistance from him and his aft thumped to the floor. 

     “Sitting?” Hound asked dumbly. In the dim room, he felt like he was floating outside of himself, like his frame belonged to someone else. 

     “And talking,” Sunstreaker rumbled, the brothers taking a seat as well. They moved in close, until Hound’s shoulders brushed theirs. 

     “Yeah, did you know that Red Alert…” 

     It hurt Hound’s neck to keep his head turned to the side to watch Sideswipe talk. So he let it face forward, his optics absently tracking shadows in the opposite portion of the room. It wasn’t a very big room and mostly taken up by volcano wall and rock debris. But it gave his visual sensors something to do. 

     Not long after, Hound’s head started to nod and he leaned more heavily against Sunstreaker. Once he realized what he was doing, he jerked upright, horrified. 

     But Sunstreaker doesn’t say or do anything, just stared straight ahead as if those rocks were as fascinating as Hound’s muddled processor had thought they were. 

     So Hound refocused on Sideswipe’s story, the droning of the twin’s voice strangely soothing. Sandwiched between the warm frontliners, it didn’t take long for Hound to fall into recharge sitting up.

     It wasn’t peaceful by any stretch of the imagination. He startled awake several times, lips pressed tightly together. One time he gripped Sideswipe’s arm so hard he thought he left dents. 

     But Sideswipe kept talking, always something silly and inane. And Sunstreaker slid even closer, his shoulder providing a hard, but serviceable, head rest. 

     It was the most sleep he’d gotten since he and Bluestreak and been rescued. Enough to keep him going for a little while longer and out of Med Bay. Maybe even enough to help his processor start to heal.

 

~ End 


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